


ecstasy in red

by inkstainedwretch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, stigmata fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/inkstainedwretch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is afflicted with stigmata. Dean and Cas attend to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ecstasy in red

It was bad enough, Dean thinks, when it was just his hands. It scared the hell out of him to see them start bleeding out of nowhere, and even now he keeps his ears pricked for any whispers or snarls or screams that might provide an answer, _any answer_ that won’t mean he has to lose his brother, again.

When it hit his feet, when it finally got so bad that he couldn’t bear to walk, even though he tried with everything he had, Castiel looked at them both with eyes full of unspeakable sadness, said the word Dean still refuses to really hear.

In the pit of his soul, he knows there’s only one being in existence who would know the real thing from a spirit’s impersonation better than an angel, but Dean doesn’t have a very good relationship with him, right now.

When he wakes up to find Sam’s head lying on a red-smeared pillow, with his hair mottled with blood and his face twisted into an expression of anguish, he actually grabs Cas by the lapels of his coat and shouts at him, _isn’t there something, anything you can do_?

Castiel looks down at Sam, lying on his back with his hands turned up to heaven, and then looks back at him with more sadness in his eyes than Dean has ever, ever seen.

“It is…a blessing,” he says, “and it is far beyond my reach.”

Dean shakes, after that, for a long time, just stands there and shakes from his hands to his shoulders to his feet, trying not to let the tears in his eyes cloud his vision because they have to do _something_ god _damn_ it, but he can’t watch his baby brother die. Not again.

But, here he is, and here is Cas, watching him by day and by night. They bandage him as best they can ( _but the wounds_ _just won’t stop bleeding_ ), and they wash the blood from his skin ( _it never dries, Cas, it doesn’t even get sticky, how is this possible_ ). Dean always washes his feet. Neither of them has asked him why, and he really couldn’t answer them if they ever did. He just knows, somewhere within him, that it’s what he has to do.

Cas takes a wet cloth and washes his face, takes a bowl of water and does his best to wash the blood from his hair. His hands are freshly bandaged and already turning bright red. And Sam…Dean can’t think of a swear strong enough. Sam reaches down and rests a hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes as best he can, and it nearly breaks Dean to see him _smile_ , even just a little, even if he can see the pain in his eyes behind the streaks of blood.

“Sammy…” His vision blurs and then clears, and Sam opens his mouth as though he might say something, something to try and reassure him like he has for weeks now, but then he shuts his eyes again and gasps, and he hears the tremendous splash of Castiel knocking over his basin when a rush of crimson spreads down his side.

Cas grabs a handful of bandages and presses them against the wound, as though that has ever worked before, and Dean thinks he can hear a frantic whisper from him, “it can’t be time yet, it’s too soon”.

He shoots up and grabs onto Sam’s shoulders, watches his smile break into utter agony as he twists into their grip like he’s desperate to hold onto something. His eyes snap open, a sort of fire burns in them, and he holds onto them both with everything he has. Dean feels the hot slipperiness of Sam’s blood more than he does the faltering grip he has on his arm, knows what it means but still can’t quite believe it.

Slowly, Sam’s eyes begin to close again, his hands begin to let go, and the pain leaves his face. He looks beautiful. Dean collapses, curling in on himself, and his tears make soft splashing sounds against his brother’s feet.

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely the fault of Askance and her cohorts spreading the wonderful anguish that is stigmata!Sam across my dash.


End file.
